


Breaking is easy, it's the piecing back together that's hard

by SaltySadi3



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Depression, Drug Use, Drugs, Evan is so tired, Gangs, I don't know where I'm going with this so hold on, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, More tags to be added, Sad, Suicidal Thoughts, everyone just needs a hug, kind of a vent fic tbh, oh boy this is kinda fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-09-02 00:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20267071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltySadi3/pseuds/SaltySadi3
Summary: “I’ll be fine.” and that’s what he always says. Evan will call Tyler or Nogla or someone anyways.





	1. Spiraling

The rush is intoxicating, and he throws his head back, eyes wide at the colors swirling around the room. There’s sounds too, clicks and buzzes, and weird little trumpet sounds. The world spins a little, and he sways, trying to keep his footing in the rotation. Faces are elongated, and he laughs at them, hands reaching out to the blurry figures trying to talk to him. He can’t hear them, not really. Their voices sound far away and muffled like they’re underwater. He thinks there’s a lot of them, but he can’t be sure. 

“I-I can’t hear yooou!” he sings, tripping over his feet and stumbling into a wall. Then there’s hands and arms and a face that snaps into focus, and he can see the warm amber and soft lips pursed in concern. Well shit, he’s gone and upset someone again. But there’s a part of him, underneath the high, that’s regretful, that wants to break down against the man’s chest and cry and scream about how unfair it all is. 

“Del...ios.” the word is lost somewhere between the man’s lips and his ears, and he tilts his head like a confused puppy, staring at the shifting face that’s staring him down. Well, he thinks it is, with all the colors and flashing lights and melting going on, it’s hard to tell what exactly is going on with the man and the warm, strong arms wrapped around him. 

“Whaaat?” he answered, head lolling to the side and wide blue eyes unseeing. 

“Yo….eed...o...com...ith...me.” the sentence is broken and he just stares at the shifting mass that was the man’s face. 

“I can’t... can’t understand yooou.” he slurred the last word and suddenly feels very tired. He tries to lay down but there’s something holding him back. Goddamnit Evan, just leave me alone! He thinks somewhere in his coherent mind, I don’t need you babying me, I’m fine. But he’s not fine, and he knows it as the drugs in his system take him in and out of realities, with colors and galaxies and long, lonely stretches of darkness. He’s afraid, but he can’t stop it, can’t pull himself out because it’s too strong and he’s barely aware of something, someone laying him down and holding him but that’s a distant sensation, and he can’t reach it anymore. He’s already falling away from that, from everything and once again, it’s all his damn fault. 

...

The sunshine hurts, like really, really hurts. Del holds his arm over his too sensitive eyes and groans. His body hates him, and he feels shaky and weak. Del just wants to stay in bed for the rest of the day, hiding from the man he knows is out in the kitchen. There’s a smell, and he recognizes it as piss and vomit, and he wants to die, just fucking die. He pulls himself up mechanically and cringes at the wet stains in his boxers, and the chunks spilled over the side of the mattress. He hates himself, and there’s the crawling, aching feeling of sadness and self-hatred that he tries so desperately to escape. But how can he escape when it just leads him right back to the hurt? 

Del throws off the boxers and stumbles into the bathroom, running the water. He turns the heat up and sits in the tub as the scalding water rains down on top of him. It feels good like it’s burning away the sins he committed. 

“What the fuck? No.” Evan’s voice is strained, and he steps into the bathroom and turns the water temperature down. Del whines and brings his knees to his chest, bowing his head and pressing his forehead to the reddened, too-hot skin. “Hey, hey,” Evan says, kneeling at the side of the tub and running his hand through Del’s hair. The feeling is nice, and Del can almost forget about this situation and how he’s naked and shivering in front of his best friend who didn’t need to do any of this and is running himself ragged just trying to keep Del from killing himself. 

“I’m... I’m so sorry.’ Del says, but he knows it’s empty at this point. He’s said that too many times for it to count anymore. Evan doesn’t say anything, grabbing the shampoo instead and rubbing some into Del’s greasy scalp. The massage is gentle, but Del’s body is still screaming, so it’s hard to enjoy it. Evan starts humming, a soft tune that might be part of his new song, and Del tries to listen, but there’s too much static between his ears. Evan finishes with his hair and gets him to stand up, rubbing soap on Del’s pale, scar filled skin. Del just stares straight ahead. The humiliation is burning his cheeks, and when Evan’s hands get close to his crotch, he swats them away. “I can do that,” he whispers and takes care of it himself. Evan turns away as Del rinses the rest of the soap from his body and turns the water off. The bathroom is suddenly so, so quiet, and Del swallows, leaning against the wall. His body curled to protect himself from Evan’s amber gaze even though he’s already seen everything and more. 

“I got you a towel. There’s food too if you want it.” Evan’s voice is clipped, and Del flinches. “I know you’re probably feeling really sick...but I thought you know, just in case.” the man trails off and stands up, handing the towel to Del, who still wants to die. He wraps it around himself as Evan goes out again, his wet footprints dark against the rug. Del closes his eyes and feels the warmth of tears start down his cheeks. He lets them fall, trail to his lips where he tastes the salt. 

...

Evan is waiting in the kitchen; his body slumped against the breakfast bar, head against the marble. There’s a weary tension in the air as Del comes and sits beside him. He takes care not to touch him, and Evan barely moves. His eyes flicker open and closed, acknowledging Del, but not taking the time to verbalize it. Del stares at the ready-made bowls of cereal and hugs himself, feeling how skinny he’s gotten. He’s nearly drowning in the blue hoodie that Evan had gotten him a year ago, and shit, has it really been a year?

Del squeezes his eyes shut and fights the new tears; he can’t worry Evan any more than he already has. “That’s... That’s the last t-time...I-I promise.” he half-whispers to himself and Evan sighs, heavy and slow.

He turns his face to Del; his cheek is squished against the counter, eyes staring at him, red and puffy. “You always say that. You need help,” he says tiredly, and it’s a conversation they’ve had a million times before. 

“I-I can’t...I can’t go out there again.” Evan just closes his eyes; he doesn’t seem to have the energy to argue. Once upon a time, he might’ve shouted, might’ve screamed about how it’s okay, that the bad is gone now, that he’ll protect him, and that they can work together to get better. They don’t have to have their lives taken over by the bad, by the drugs and alcohol. But it’s been months now, and Evan has given up. He’s only stayed out of a sense of duty, he doesn’t want to see Del die, and heaven knows that without Evan, Del would’ve been dead forever ago.

“I’m sorry,” Del repeats, and Evan turns away. The apologies don’t mean anything anymore. Not really. 

“Just...just don’t,” Evan whispers and pulls himself up, grabbing his cereal bowl and throwing it into the sink. “I have to go to work in like half an hour, can you manage for four hours or should I call one of the guys?” Evan’s tone is flat and beyond tired. 

Del’s eyes burn as he stares down at the cereal going soggy in his bowl. “I’ll be fine.” and that’s what he always says. Evan will call Tyler or Nogla or someone anyways.

  
...  
  


Tyler is in the living room by the time Evan leaves, and Del is in his bedroom, tucked against the wall with the covers wrapped around him in a tight cocoon. He can faintly hear the sounds of whatever show Tyler is watching and wonders what the man thinks of this, of all of it. He’s probably pissed, and really, Del wouldn’t blame him. He’s a nuisance to everyone, and he can’t man up enough to fix himself.

He’s itching for a smoke, and it’s so stupid that he even wants to. He hasn’t smoked cigarettes in years, but the pull toward something old and familiar is almost overwhelming. He presses his sweat-slick forehead to the wall and sighs at the coolness of it.

It’s so sad that this is his life. What was he a year ago? Who was he a year ago before any of this bullshit happened? Someone who laughed and joked and wanted so much more than this. He had a life before this, and he’d lost it all to bad decisions and bad luck.

Anger gripped him like a lightning strike, fast and hot. It wasn’t his fault. The...the bad hadn’t been his fault; it hadn’t… He sat up and tried to keep his breathing even, tried to keep the tears and panic and overwhelming fear from overcoming him. But he’s sinking into memory again, clawing at the edges before tumbling backward into the darkness. 


	2. Flashbacks

Shivers run down his spine as his name echoes around him, whispered in the men’s tounges. There’s a lot of them, all big and muscular, smelling of gunsmoke and tobacco. Del shifts in his chains, they’re digging into his wrists, and he meets the gaze of what appears to be the leader of these men. The leader steps forward, his dark eyes glittering, and never leaving Del’s face. He’s a thin, wiry man who holds himself in a very regal manner like he thinks he’s some sort of king. He’s handsome, Del notices, but in a more sinister way. Like a Disney villain. His eyes are dark and brooding, and there’s a long white scar across his temple through the corner of his right eye. There’s another scar along the sharp edge of his stubbled jaw, but this one looks messier, the scar tissue is thicker, and the shape of it is more jagged. 

His face is pale in the electric lights, but he’s tan, and when he smiles, Del can see the glint of a golden tooth or two. “It’s so nice to meet you.” His voice is sonorous, smooth, and charming. He flashes a smile, but it’s empty, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which are cold and suspicious. “After all the trouble you’ve caused, it’s really quite poetic, is it not? Unmasking the great Delirious, the mystery man of Los Santos.” he laughed without humor. “It’s so sad to see that you’re just some ordinary  _ boy _ .” he spits the word, and Del’s face hardens. He’s not a kid. Kids don’t murder and steal and torture. 

The Disney Villian shakes his head. “I wanted to kill you, all these years that you’ve been ruining us.” he gestured to the men behind him. “But we decided that perhaps death was too merciful. You see we’ve worked our asses off to get to where we are, and we don’t need some  _ boy _ coming in and fucking everything up. You think you’re some sort of hero, huh? Think you can just challenge this city’s underground and get away with it?” he shakes his head. “No, no, you won’t get away with it. Not while I’m in charge.” he came closer, and Del could smell his cologne. It was pleasant, innocent smelling. The Disney Villian took Del’s face in his hand and turned it one way and another, inspecting every inch of it. “Hmm, he is pretty, I’ll give you that Rex.” he glanced back at the biggest of the men who’s bald head gleamed in the lights. 

Rex nodded, and there was a gleam in his eyes that Del didn’t like. “So can we just get to it already? I think he gets the fucking gist, Victor.” 

The Disney villain, Victor, just scoffs. “Eager, are we? Fine. I don’t want to waste too much time.” he nods toward two of the men who step forward and roughly haul Del to his feet. Del nearly falls, his legs have gone numb from kneeling for so long. The men hold him in place, and one unlocks the chains holding him to the ground. Del is about to kick or squirm when a gun is pressed to the side of his head. 

“Yer smart boy, but we’re smarter.” the man on his left says and grins. Del fights the urge to roll his eyes, he’s pretty sure he’s smarter than the two of these goons. 

“Bring him to the guest room,” Victor says, and there’s too much excitement in his voice for that to mean anything good. Del tries to steel himself. He’s no stranger to pain and to torture, he’s not afraid of it...but there’s something in these men’s eyes that makes him uncomfortable. There’s something more planned than just making him bleed. The men drag him down dark hallways that smell of blood and sweat. Del notices dark stains on the walls, splatters, and little rivers running to the crusted carpet. He’s panicking; if they were just going to torture him, they’d have said so. They’d called him “pretty,” and Del was beginning to think he knew what that meant. He protested, muffled words against the gag, and Victor gave him an amused smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll have so much fun.” he laughed then, but it was dark and without humor. Del’s eyes widened, and as he was pushed through the doorway into a little padded room, he screamed. 

...

Del woke to the sound of his own raw screaming. He took deep, gulping breaths, filling his lungs with cool air. His heart still hammered in his chest, and sweat coated his entire body. He pulled at his clothes and blankets, their weight suddenly too constricting, too suffocating. He’s throwing everything across the room when Tyler comes in, looking like he’s just woken up. 

“Shit,” he says when he sees the state of the room and the tears staining Del’s red cheeks. “C’mon Delirious, really?” he’s annoyed then, and Del feels the shame hot against his cheeks. He stops fussing with the sheets and his clothes and stares at Tyler. “Another dream?” Tyler sighs and runs his hands through his hair, which is much longer than Del remembers, and curly. 

“What do you think?” Del snaps, and the anger has hit him fast again; it’s gripping at his chest, squeezing and heating up his entire body. Tyler’s eyes narrow, and Del tries to meet the bright blue before he’s looking away, unable to meet the face of his friend. Is Tyler his friend, is anyone his friend anymore? Do any of them  _ want _ to be? 

“I’m just trying to help dude,” Tyler says, and it’s true. Tyler’s not a touchy-feely guy, and emotions were never his strong suit. Del admires him for trying though, because he is trying... it’s just not working very well. His heart has calmed down, the panic dissipating, and fear dulling back into a comfortable pulse. Tyler is standing there, his large frame leaning against the doorway and hand rubbing the back of his neck. Del tries not to look at him, he’s built too much like the men from his dream.

There’s an ice-cold dread settling on his shoulders, as phantom hands start roaming his body, and again the clothes are too tight, and he can’t breathe. “Fuck.” he groans, and it’s a scared sound. He’s pulling at his shirt, tugging at the neckline, and stretching as far away from the fever-hot skin. Tyler comes closer, hands hesitantly helping him take the shirt off. Del squirms away from his touch, the hands too big and rough. “No, no, no.” there’s more salt on his lips, and he licks it away, but the tears won’t stop. 

“Delirious, it’s ok,” Tyler says, and for a second, his voice snaps Del back to some sort of reality, maybe just out of the shock that Tyler was actually  _ gentle _ in his tone. 

Del looks at him pleadingly, but it’s clear by the expression on his face that Tyler is just as freaked as he is. “I...I can feel them.” Del sobs and huddles back against the wall, his mind aching for a release, an escape from the bombardment of emotions and sensations. He wants the drugs, wants the alcohol, wants to drown himself before the  _ bad _ can. 

“Hey, hey, listen to me.” Tyler’s voice is gentle again, and it’s so weird to hear. “You’re ok, you’re going to be ok. I’m here and damn if I’m gonna let anything happen to you. I promised Evan that I’d keep your sorry ass from getting too fucked up, so I’m gonna need you to calm down and breathe. I’ll even get you a fucking drink if it stops...this.” he gestures to Del, and Del feels another wave of shame course through him.

“You know I’m not some psychologist. I’m part of a fucking gang, so I don’t understand half of what the fuck is going on with you, and I don’t think I ever will. I mean, I know it’s PTSD, that’s obvious, but like, I can’t…” he trails off, and Del closes his eyes. Tyler lets out a frustrated sounding sigh and shakes his head. “I’ll go get you the drink, just don’t freak while I’m gone.” he gets up and leaves quickly, and Del takes deep breaths. He’s a fucking mess, and he wants to die more than ever. A headache is building, pressure concentrated on his forehead, and Del holds one hand to his head, wincing as the pain grows. He’s shaking too, shivering and sweating. He knows it’s from withdrawal because he’s that damn addicted. 

He rolls over and shoves his face into the pillow, aching for a smoke, a drink, a shot, anything to make it go away. “Fuck,” he whispers as a spike of pain erupts across his forehead. He curls into a ball, eyes squeezed shut, and palms pressing into his forehead. 

“Hey, Delirious?” Tyler’s back and Del forces himself to sit up. He looks bleary-eyed at the tall man before reaching for the offered bottle and pills. He takes them all in one mouthful, and Tyler looks away, disgust curled on his lips.

Del finishes the rest of the bottle in only a few minutes and sits back against the headboard, one hand still against his head. “How long until Evan’s home?” he asks. 

Tyler checks his phone. “About an hour.” There’s a long silence where neither of them knows what to say because what do you say in a situation like this? Tyler finally sighs and scratches the back of his neck before tilting his head in the direction of the living room. “Do you mind if I…” 

“Go ahead,” Del says and watches him go. Then the room is empty again, and he’s left alone with nothing but his thoughts, which is dangerous. Part of him just wants to lay down and sleep, let it all fade away. But another part of him wants to stay awake long enough for the drugs to take hold, let them dull the pain, and slip a blurred, multi-colored filter over his vision. But it’s not his choice, and he lays down, his eyes closing and head filling with static. 


	3. Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I finally wrote something for this....can't promise it's good. Also trigger warning for rape scenes.

He’s panting, there’s a suffocating heat all around him, bodies and sweat and heartbeats all pressed together. His head is spinning, there’s colors and sounds and sensations but they’re all too muddled to make much sense. He’s not sure where he is or why everything is so blurry and why he feels both euphoric and disgusting at the same time. 

“Fuck, he’s just like I thought he’d be.” someone says and it makes Del cringe. 

He’s hurting now, a dull ache has started at the base of his spine and is radiating up through his shoulders. He shudders and that just makes them smile and laugh and run hands all around him. He feels like crying, but he doesn’t want to. Because that would show them exactly what they want, weakness, brokenness. He’s not about to give them that when they’d taken everything else. There’s a loud moaning from somewhere above him and then there’s something warm, wet, trickling down his eyebrows and into his eyes. He blinks rapidly and moves to wipe it away but his wrists are chained and it keeps on running down his face. It’s at his lips now and he can taste the salt. He recoils at it, his body flinching and then there’s something pressed to his lips, something warm and throbbing and Del’s eyes widen as it goes in. It all becomes background noise as it continues, Del falling away from it, from the wet, slapping, the warmth constantly around him, on him, in him, the men’s moans and dirty words. 

He doesn’t think his brain can handle it anymore, and maybe that’s for the best. He doesn’t want to remember this, but he knows he will. Every horrible moment. Every sensation in the tilting, merry-go-round of colors and sounds and touches. His brain is a dull static, and he blinks, confused to find himself lying in a different room, with a different, more familiar man at the edge of his bed. 

“Hey.” the man whispers and Del pulls the covers closer. He’s panting, sweating, and his heart feels heavy. He’s not panicking anymore, and that’s almost worse. He’s numb, but the man is coming closer, gently taking the sweat-soaked blanket and replacing it with another, cool, clean sheet. Del doesn’t say anything, what is there to say? Evan already knows what happened, what he needs. Del really should say thank you, but he feels that, somehow, it’ll be empty. Like the promises he makes, like his brain, like his heart. 

“Del, do you want to talk about-”

“No.” His voice is rough sounding, and his throat hurts. He reaches for the nightstand but there’s nothing there. Evan gets up and disappears and Del can hear the water running in the kitchen. Evan comes back with an ice-cold glass of water and Del sips at it as he tries not to meet Evan’s eyes. 

“I brought home some food if you want.” 

“I’m not hungry.” 

Evan sighs at his answer and purses his lips. There’s tension in the air, and it’s so awkward and stupid. Evan used to be his best friend and now they can barely hold a conversation. “I’m gonna go...uh record.” Evan says and Del bites his lip. 

Evan’s still trying, trying to pretend that it’s all still normal. That Del’s not having a mental breakdown, that the group is still together, that YouTube is still important. It’s all fucking bullshit and Evan knows it but he won’t stop. He wants something that feels normal, and Del understands that, wants that. He watches Evan go, then swings his legs over the bedside. He’s hungry. 

…

“You’re serious then huh? ‘Bout tryin’ ta get ‘im help finally?” Nogla’s accent, hell his deeper voice in of itself, is calming. 

Evan sighs, “I want to, I really, really want to.” 

“What’s holding ye back?” 

Evan glances back, and through the slight open space between the door and frame he can see the kitchen, see the skinny man hunched over a bowl of cereal at the counter. “I don’t want to force him into anything. I don’t want it to be a fight. I don’t think he could handle that.” 

“Hmm, but he really needs it. I’ve seen ‘im Evan. He’s not gonna make it long like he is. He’s gonna overdose one ‘a these days.” Nogla’s voice is serious, grounding. 

Evan rubs a hand down his face and looks bleary-eyed into the screen. “I know Nogla, I know.” 

“Then why don’tcha do somethin’ fer fock’s sake?” Nogla sounds tired, annoyed maybe. 

“Because I don’t know how Nogla! How am I supposed to get someone who refuses help, help?”

“I dunno either! I’m just trying ta help ye!” Nogla yells and there’s a long pause where Evan just slumps into his seat and stares at the floor and Nogla glares at nothing, a frustrated look over his features. Neither of them know what to do, and Evan feels so damn tired. He wishes he could just let it all go. Wishes he could just stick Delirious in a hospital somewhere and focus on something, anything, else. But he’s too good for that. He still loves the man, and there’s so much between them at this point that he just can’t let him go. 

“I just want this to end.” Evan says softly and Nogla closes his eyes and nods. 

“We all do.” 

…

Del threw up again. It wasn’t pleasant, it never is, but this time it leaves him feeling emptier than usual. He heard Evan talking to Nogla, he knows how much of a burden he is on Evan. Del wipes at the tears streaming from his eyes. He’s sick, and needs help. One could argue he’d always been sick, always needed help. He killed people for a living. That sort of thing changes a person. They say that killing gets easier, and it was. He could tune out screams, ignore the bodies, relish the blood. All that had mattered was his life and the lives of his friends...friends who probably hate him now. 

What has he done? Nothing. Not one thing since they recovered him from the depths of the warehouse. Del grabs at the sink, hauling himself upright, glaring at the man he finds in the mirror. The Del he sees is skinny, with hints of stubble forming around his jawline, and sunken red-rimmed eyes. The Del in the mirror is broken and dying, and Del is tired of it. 

He runs water and ducks his head beneath the faucet. It’s cold and he shivers, but it relieves the numbness and the pain. He pushes himself away after a few minutes and straightens, water trickling down his cheeks. He stares defiantly into the mirror-Del’s eyes and promises himself that he will find a way through this. That he is done cowering under the blankets and drowning himself in alcohol and drugs. He leaves the bathroom before his brain can remind him of the withdrawls, the nightmares, the depression, everything. 


End file.
